


The Anvil of Life

by JauntyHako



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A mix of canon and head-canon surrounding Ulfrics life, F/M, Gen, Lots of people telling stories, Shippy only if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F!Dunmer!Dovahkiin sets out to find out more about Ulfric Stormcloak, what made him the man he is. </p>
<p>Seriously it's mostly people telling stories about Ulfric. There might be a joke about Dunmer and Stormcloaks matching colourwise. Wanted to answer myself a few questions (like - if Ulfric was supposed to become a Greybeard who was supposed to become Jarl of Windhelm after his father instead) and somehow something resembling a story came out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anvil of Life

"Tell me about your life." Shanshu said one day, while devouring - not eating, nothing so ladylike - the food that the servants had laid out for dinner. They were completely alone - safe for two guards that stood watch at the gate - and as such there was no one there to entertain the volatile Dunmer. She was always curious, always had questions over questions, about the Voice, about the War, about the Nord and, most infuriating, about him. As if they shared any personal connection. As if she wasn't - next to Galmar - the person he trusted most with this war. As if ... he groaned and massaged his temples.  
"I thought you were the storyteller." he said in a feeble attempt at changing the subject.  
"I am. But I need to hear stories every once in a while to be able to tell them. Now tell me something. About your time with the Greybeards. Or the War. Ohh, I know. Did you have siblings?"  
He stilled. As did Shanshu. Even she seemed to realise that she had said something wrong. In the silence that flooded the room like mucky ash water the only thing that could be heard was the quiet clatter of dishes that Shanshu put back in their place.  
Every other person would have said 'Oh, nevermind, forget I asked'. But not Shanshu. She wanted to hear the story.  
"I had brothers. Two of them." Ulfric said, keeping his eyes closed. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about his brothers. Just not with an elf.  
"They died?"  
"In the Great War."  
"I'm sorry."  
"No, you're not!"  
Ulfric rose from his seat, strode up to Shanshu in three long steps. He towered over her, finding a little solace at how small she looked. She with her gray skin and fiendish red eyes. She with her clan markings. She with her Stormcloak armour ("Why would you want to join us?" He remembered asking. "Why not? I fit the colour theme." He remembered her answering.). Shanshu with her undying loyalty. With her love for Skyrim in her very soul ("Akatosh himself chose me as a paragon for Skyrim. The land chose me to protect it. Would you deny me?") Shanshu who asked questions that made him think of dark days. Days that haunted him still.  
"Don't you dare being sorry. Your kind brought this on my brothers. It is your fault that they died."  
"The Altmer did this." Shanshu said slowly. "They are responsible."  
But Ulfric would have none of it. What matter was it if it was Altmer or Dunmer?  
"You elves are all of a kind. You are no different than them. Don't you ever ask about my family again."  
It was Shanshus turn to get up. She was a head smaller than Ulfric and still managed to stare him a step back.  
"Don't worry. I won't."

Shanshu had ridden out, Order's in her backpack to meet up at the Riften Stormcloak Camp. But before she had to do something else.  
Arngeir meditated in the tower when Shanshu interrupted him. She heard him sigh but made no sign to apologise. Just sitting around doing nothing all day was nothing she could ever familiarise with.  
"I need to know more about Ulfric." she said bluntly. Arngeir frowned but beckoned her to sit with him. Instead Shanshu leaned against one of the pillars and stared out on the world. It was a magnificent view.  
"Anything specific?"  
"Anything. Everything. I want to know what kind of a man he is."  
"Is there a reason for your sudden curiosity?"  
"His birthday is approaching and I am looking for a very personal gift."  
"Very funny. Very well, keep your reasons to yourself. It can't harm to tell you a little more about the man who so valiantly strives to be High King. The first thing you must know is ..."

Ulfric was never meant to become High King. Or even Jarl of Windhelm for that matter. He was the youngest of three sons. Adalrikt, Frakki and Ulfric, the youngest. The afterthought. That was how Frakki, who himself was almost seven years older than Ulfric, used to tease him with. And indeed Ulfric was the crass opposite of his older brothers and father Hoag, named after King Hoag Merkiller and equally as ferocious against elves.  
Where Adalrikt smashed enemies to pieces with his sword and mighty tower shield, Ulfric favoured a battleaxe that gave him more agility. Where Frakki was the best horseman in the whole of Eastmarch - and some said in the whole of Skyrim (mostly Frakki himself) - Ulfric could always be seen with his nose in a book he was just now learning to read. He was taller than his brothers, but much weaker, being bested by them easily. Even his hair, golden as the rising sun, separated him from his brothers, who had both inherited their fathers black mane. Harvaldr, their steward, tried to cheer him up sometimes by telling him of their mother's golden hair, but Ulfric never felt cheered. He was only reminded of how sometimes Adalrikt would look at him and turn away, as if Ulfric having stolen their mothers hair only added insult to injury. She had died in childbirth.  
Still he loved his family, even if they didn't fit so well together. Until one day he had wandered - by accident really, the city was huge from the eyes of a seven year old - into the Gray Quarter, astonished by the Dunmer who went about their daily lives, most ignoring the Nord boy who wandered between them. At one point though, one of them, a man who introduced himself as Belyn had taken notice of him and taken him into his house. This day had been the most interesting Ulfric had spent in his entire seven year long life. Belyn knew everything or so it seemed. He knew tales to tell of Morrowind and Skyrim and a thousand other places. He lauded Ulfric on his reading skills and rewarded him with a book telling the story of Nerevarine who slayed Dagoth Ur in the Third Era. It was a beautiful leather bound edition, full with pictures of places far away and heroes bigger than life. Ulfric couldn't wait to read it. He spent the entire day with the Dunmer and would have spent the rest of his life in this house full of curiosities if by sundown the guards hadn't come. The sound as they knocked on the door had both Ulfric and Belyn flinch but the Dunmer remained passive and opened the door to ask what the fuss was about. Without asking for permission they stormed the house, shoving Belyn to the side, smashing furniture and priceless trinkets. Ulfric had wanted to hide but all too soon the Captain of the Guard found him and dragged him by the collar back to the Palace of Kings, where he received the thrashing of his life. Never was he to go into the Gray Quarter, never was he to talk to one of the Greyskins. By the time his father let him go Ulfric was crying and swearing never to look at a Dunmer again. The book, that somehow he had managed to hold onto, was stored in the chest under his bed, never to be looked at again.  
After that his father apparently gave up. A few weeks before Ulfric reached his eigth birthday he was sent away to High Hrothgar, to learn the Thu'um and become a Greybeard. It would be the last time he saw his father. 

"This is all I know of Ulfric's life prior to arriving here." Arngeir said. Shanshu blinked, emerging from the story Arngeir had told so masterfully.  
"Huh. And here I thought he grew up the racist pig he is today." she said.  
"You must not speak of Ulfric so. I do not ... appreciate his attitude towards ... well, much anything really. But I do respect him as a man. He has reasons for what he does."  
"You were close then?" Shanshu asked, urging Arngeir on to tell his story further. The old man smiled.  
"He was like a son to me. Ulfric was ... not like other boys of his age that in his time came more often to train than today. He was ..."

Shy and mute, apparently. Ever since his father had left him with the Greybeards he had said not a single word, instead clutching his bag of sparse belongings and looking around with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Arngeir always felt that High Hrothgar was no place for a child, it was too dark, too cold and too lonely. He himself had spent his youth here and knew every corner, every spot by heart. It was still no warmer to him than on the day of his own arrival. As the youngest of the Greybeards it fell to him to greet the new student. And while none of the Greybeards were picked for their ability to get along with children, Arngeir promised himself to at least try.  
"Hello there." he said with a smile that he hoped looked bright and inviting. Ulfric gasped and bolted. Arngeir felt the swish of wind as the young boy sped past him and stared into nothingness for a while. Well, that could have gone better. The clatter of vases being toppled over told him of where Ulfric had gone to. He followed the boy as fast as he dared without upsetting the older masters whom - in thoughts that weren't as enlightened as they should have been - he suspected to topple over at the slightest breeze.  
Ulfric hid in a small alcove and well at that. So well in fact that Arngeir could detect him only thanks to his clattering teeth. He acted as if he hadn't seen him and instead put his hand thoughtfully to his chin.  
"Huh, where might that boy be?" he asked himself and shuddered at how loud his voice sounded in the echoing halls of High Hrothgar. "I wanted to invite him to hot tea and sweet rolls but apparently I have to eat them all on my own. Such a shame really, especially since we only get them once a month."  
Ulfric was before him just as he finished, fidgeting with his fingers and shuffling his feet. Arngeir laughed and offered Ulfric his hand, which the boy took, and led him to the kitchen, where they - far from the other Greybeards who scorned happiness and sweet rolls out of principle - had a meal and came to know each other. When they finished, both their bellies full to the point of bursting, Ulfric rewarded Arngeirs efforts with a smile that lacked two teeth. 

Shanshu snorted in a manner Arngeir would usually assort with Cave Bears.  
"I can just imagine Ulfric without his front teeth. I'd go get another Elder Scroll just to see that."  
Arngeir of course scolded her but within the recesses of his mind he admitted it was a fairly nice memory to have.  
"And from that day you were best friends?"  
"Of course not. I had to drag him to his lessons more than once. Literally, too."

Ulfric enjoyed studying history and the dragon language. He loved hearing about the dragons and about Paarthurnax, the master of their order who shared the name of the dragon Paarthurnax who had given Men their voice. What he didn't enjoy so much was the studying of the Thu'um itself. All the masters attended these lessons, looking down on the boy, shaking their heads, mumbling sometimes in the dragon language that would make Ulfrics bones tremble. On these days it was Arngeirs duty to grab Ulfric by the ankles and drag the crying and clawing boy to his lessons, inwardly thinking of dousing the boy with soap water and then cleaning the floor with him, if he was to be dragged anyway.  
But in a way he was relieved that Ulfric was so hesitant about the Thu'um. He himself had only the most reverence for this ancient art and had feared that the young boy might just be too rash, too enticed by the power before him. But he seemed reluctant to learn, reluctant to even raise his voice in normal speech.  
That was, of course, until Ulfric shouted for the first time. He was thirteen by the time and he had practiced under the steady eye of the masters for five years now when one day they stood in the courtyard, strawfigures perched up for practice and Ulfric just shouted the puppet apart. Never before had his thu'um been so strong, so destructive. Ulfric was overjoyed, doing it again and again, finally losing his fear of the voice in favour of pride. Arngeir knew then that their relationship would never be the same.  
Even though they remained close to each other, the years to Ulfrics adolescence were spent in reprimanding him, counseling him in the proper use of his voice. And it was so much harder since Ulfric - outside of using the voice - was still the quiet bookworm Arngeir had come to accept as a substitute for a son he would never have. Ulfric was still shy and hesitant, but he also - or maybe because of it - relished in the power the Voice gave him. He looked taller, stronger, older when he shouted, when he mastered a new Word of Power. And he began to take an interest in the world below. By Ulfric's seventeenth birthday he had taken to talk to Kleppr - the young man who brought them their supplies - about what was going on, even though Arngeir urged him not to. He had no business in knowing what was happening, had no need to know. And in that year the worst came to pass. Kleppr had spoken of war for months now and Ulfric grew more restless each day in wake of the violence that was happening in the real world. He was convinced he could do good, not with his voice maybe - but why not? - but with his skills as a warrior. He was a skilled fighter and a good tactician. He should help his people. But always Arngeir managed to talk him down, urged him to keep at his studies and Ulfric - reluctantly - obeyed. Until a messenger - a man from Windhelm Court - stood before High Hrothgar with a message that had Ulfric - for the first time in almost ten years - crying in his room. He didn't allow Arngeir to comfort him over his brothers Frakki and Adalrikts death, wouldn't hear any of the wise words Arngeir had to say and that even in his own mouth felt hollow and meaningless. What could he possibly say to take the pain away?  
He couldn't but Ulfric found words. Mostly those of accusation. He screamed at Arngeir until his throat was raw, how he could have held him back while his brothers were being slaughtered by elves. Why he didn't allow Ulfric to join the war sooner, why he - the youngest of all three - was still alive and his strong and capable brothers were not. It was these things Arngeir didn't know what to say to.

"He fought in the war though, did he? What happened?" Shanshu asked after Arngeir had remained silent for too long.  
"Yes. There was nothing I could say to bring him from this path of vengeance, even though I tried. I feared for his life, Dragonborn, and for his soul. Here in High Hrothgar he was safe, safe from temptation, from people trying to manipulate him. Without the messages he would have been safe from pain, too. But things had changed. His father had died three years prior and without his older brothers Ulfric was the only one to success the throne of Windhelm. I tried everything in my might to keep him at least away from the war, but he would have none of that. He left with the messenger the very next day and that is the last that I heard of Ulfric for a long time. It was only during your peace council that I first saw him again. And I know only of the things I hear from you about what kind of man he is today."  
Shanshu remained silent for a long time. She stared out into the open wild, the rivers flowing like ribbons, the valleys and mountains, shrouded in mist.  
"Thank you for telling me this, Arngeir."  
The old man heaved his shoulders and returned to the monastery without saying another word.

Shanshu met up with Riften camp then, helping regain the Rift from Maven Black-Briar and putting Laila back on her throne. The Jarl, who had been less than thrilled at being put out of her own city at the Council found it in her heart to forgive the Dovahkiin. Maven was less forgiving. Shanshu reveled in the face Maven made when she saw the Master of the very Guild she had first protected, and then tried to put out of business when they had become too strong, side by side with the Stormcloaks.  
The party afterwards, held part on the streets, part in the keep, and part in the brewery, would go down in Shanshu's personal history as the drunkest she had ever been. And that included that drinking match with Sanguine.  
Somewhere between her fourth and _rrrughruld ___pint she decided to pick up where Arngeir had left off. Galmar - happy as a bear in a honeypot - was all too inclined to tell Shanshu of the man he had picked up from the monastery almost forty years ago.  
"So you were that messenger who brought Ulfric message of his brothers death." Shanshu exclaimed, gesturing with her pint at about everything from Galmar to the soldiers to the barrels of mead they lay under for easier access. Sweet, sticky mead dripped on Shanshus head.  
"Aye, I was." Galmar said in a voice that only so managed to be understandable. "I'll never forget that day. It was my first assignment and I was to march to the front immediately after, reporting in with General Jonna. Hah, if I'd known in what a mess we'd be getting ... Nah, I'd still have gone up that blasted mountain."

Which was cold, even for Skyrim standards. Galmar was packed tightly in animal furs and heavy leather that held out wind and rain just the same. He only just so managed to stay warm all the same. But Ulfric in his loose Greybeard robes that seemed so out of place at the young man with the golden hair, waded through the snowstorm as if it was a spring breeze, showing no signs of cold.  
They made their way to the southern edge of Skyrim, where they met up with the troops from Whiterun and a few strays from Windhelm, who hadn't signed up until now. At the head of the procession rode on a horse so white it almost disappeared in the snow, a young man, looking for all the world like Ulfric only with less chin, less beard and less humility. Upon arriving he mocked Galmar for being late and Ulfric for his shabby robes. Ulfric had held back at first, allowing Galmar to give back as good as he got, not at ease with the new surroundings. This was the most contact he had with other humans other than the Greybeards and Klepprs in almost ten years. It was certainly the biggest heap of testosterone he had ever encoutnered, ever. Still he didn't want his robes be mocked for what they were - symbols of men he still deeply respected even after all that had happened. So on their third day on the march to Bruma he knocked the arrogant prick off his horse. The young men rolled through the snow, beating the ever loving shit out of each other along the way. It took the young man's father to separate the two. That was of course when Ulfric was first recognised as the late Jarl of Windhelm's last son. Walking with the common soldiers no one had thought him to be nobility and it was not a fact Ulfric had put on much importance on even after. It was his being humble that made him rivals with Balgruuf, who on his white stallion made no secret of his station.  
Days after this first confrontation they joined up with the army at Bruma, from where they would march south to back the troops at the Imperial City. They were given uniforms and weapons and Ulfric the monk became Ulfric the warrior. There at Bruma Galmar reuinted with his brother, Rolff, as hot-headed as he was violent and full of bravado. An Imperial soldier named Rikke also joined their group. Rikke had been injured in a previous battle and was supposed to return home but managed somehow to convince General Jonna of her health and was allowed to rejoin the war. The friendship between Galmar, Ulfric and Rikke became as close as any friendship forged in the fires of war could be.  
To their great amusement Balgruuf had his horse taken from him to "give to to real generals". To their lesser amusement they found the arrogant nobleman sharing their sleeping space for almost every day until the end of the war. On their way to the Imperial City a small troop of Dunmer mercenaries bolstered their ranks, among them the strong-willed Irileth, a woman as beautiful as she was experienced. She struck a close friendship with Balgruuf that would last their entire lives.

"That was three weeks before Ulfric got captured." Galmar said quietly. The hubbub around them had died down, the other soldiers fast asleep or out in the streets celebrating into the morning. Shanshu, having spent her time filling up the last crevices of her innards with alcohol, still managed a somewhat believable frown.  
"By the Thalmor."  
"Aye. Talos, if only I had been there. I should have accompanied them, should have done something. I left my Thane out of my sight for one second and gone he is."  
"Jarl."  
"What?"  
"You mean Jarl. You let your Jarl out of your sight."  
"Nah, lass. Ulfric wasn't yet Jarl. He was the son of the Jarl and that made him no more than Thane."  
"Alright. So go on. What happened?"  
"He got captured, that happened. I know the details from Irileth, who was there. She, Ulfric and two others were scouting at the outer walls of the Imperial City where the Thalmor were seen when they ran into an ambush. The Thalmor were superior in size and experience and they took everyone. Only Irileth made it back to camp, badly hurt. I'm not proud of it, but I may have called her traitor once or twice for letting Ulfric getting captured. Ulfric of course never talks about it but he didn't really trust Irileth after that much. And that was it. He got captured, he came back, got made Jarl and here we are, conquering the land for him."  
Shanshu nodded gravely. Then she raised her tankard.  
"To Ulfric." she said. Galmar's tankard nudged hers.  
"To Ulfric."

Shanshu hadn't read the Thalmor Dossier on Ulfric more than once. Most of what was in it was no news for her. That Ulfric had been manipulated by the Thalmor to further their goals took no genius to find out. She resided at Candlehearth Hall when she first took the dossier again, flipping through the pages, trying to fill the holes with what information was stored there. It had become a hobby of some sort, to piece together Ulfric's lifestory, to understand the man who led them into war. There was talk of a contact, one with whom Ulfric had obviously been at least on speaking terms prior to the Markarth Incident. That ruled out any obvious Thalmor.  
Shanshu took up her new orders from Ulfric - who seemed still cross with her but at least looked at her again - and made off to find that contact. The easiest way would have been asking Ulfric about any friends he might have made during his imprisonment. However, even Shanshu realised this to be a bit tactless at best.  
She spent the next weeks in Windhelm, trying to find out as much as she could about the Markarth Incident. There was almost a year between Ulfric returning home from the war and his involvement in the reach, a whole year where he had let Madanach rule by himself. According to Galmar he had to sort out business in Eastmarch, which had spent almost a year without a Jarl. Still Shanshu suspected someone might have urged Ulfric into action. She was right. Jorleif, dutiful as he was, had written down a meticulous diary of all that had happened in Windhelm ever since he was appointed steward. Just a few days before Ulfric went to bring the Reach under Nord control a visitor, who was only referred to as "a friend from the war" had come to the Palace of Kings, discussing with Ulfric matters that no one, not even Galmar, was to know about.  
Finding out the actual name of that person was harder still but this time Shanshu's connections with the Thieves Guild helped her out. She found herself in Markarth, staring slack-jawed.  
"I didn't think you could make friends if your life depended on it."  
"What in blazes are you talking about?" Ondolemar gruntled from his cell. He was dressed in rags which caused Shanshu to feel a pinch of sympathy for this proud man. She realised she had to go careful about this. Other than Arngeir and Galmar Ondolemar had no reason to tell her the story and indeed had possibly even been ordered against it.  
She sat in front of his cell, playing with a lockpick. His eyes followed every movement of it.  
"I know you were Ulfric's contact after the Thalmor let him escape." She began and found to her joy that Ondolemar seemed shocked at her amount of information.  
"You don't know anything." he murmured, still not looking away from the lockpick. Shanshu had taken to flipping it in and out of her sleeve.  
"Your arrogance won't help you much now. But how are your storytelling skills?"  
He frowned at her.  
"There is nothing you could possibly offer me. I am to be executed in three days time. Your friend Galmar Stone-Fist has taken express interest in doing it himself. And even if you were to set me free, Stormcloak soldier, I'd have nowhere to go. For the Thalmor I am compromised. For my family I am already dead."  
Shanshu leaned forward, lowering her voice even more. There were no guards around - she had made sure of that - but it still payed to be careful.  
"I can do more than get you out. You can be an asset to me. I need someone in High Rock, someone who can tell me what is going on there, how the political currents flow. I have a contact there who can set up a life for anyone I might decide to send."  
"You would trust me with that?" Ondolemar asked, half sniding half hoping.  
"Trust? Is that a word they even teach you with the Thalmor? Of course I'm not going to trust you. Rest assured that any contact you might make with the Aldmeri Dominion would result in your untimely demise. But I might think you're worth it. I still know nothing about your credentials though."  
Ondolemar laughed hoarsely.  
"I could tell you about the time I let a prisoner of war believe I was on his side and continued to manipulate him into doing exactly what his greatest enemies wanted. Would that serve to validate my credentials?"  
Shanshu made a show of appearing to think.  
"What an interesting idea. Tell you what, you have yourself a deal. Tell me this story - tell me the truth and tell me all of it - and I will give you a new life."  
"Very well. I hope you have some time on your hands. I first met Ulfric night forty years ago ..."

In the dungeons of the Thalmor stronghold near Bravil. That was where they brought him, bleeding, in chains, dropping in and out of consciousness. Elenwen wasted no time. They had him chained up and naked within minutes, being rid of his armour, his Talos amulet, his dignity in one fell swoop. The first day he was just beaten, Elenwen overseeing the procedure, asking her questions in a cold leveled tone, that scared even some of the other Thalmor. Ulfric did not reveal more than his name. But it was enough. Enough to bring Ondolemar in, officially as an assistant to Elenwen. Now there were two justiciars watching Ulfric be beaten. But Ondolemar made a habit of flinching whenever Ulfric would scream. In the evening he returned to Ulfrics cell, hushed and acting as if he was there on his own. He brought the man food and water but said nothing.  
Over the next days they turned from beating to cutting to even more cruel things. Only thin cuts that would leave no scars. Elenwen asked questions again and when Ulfric wouldn't answer the right things she had a bucket of saltwater prepared. Ondolemar tried to talk Elenwen out of it, without success of course, but Ulfric paid attention. That night when Ondolemar came to Ulfrics cell, this time with a sponge to clean the man's wounds, they talked. Ondolemar spun a wonderful story about finding his conscience, about hesitating about wanting to help. It took all of a week until Ulfric had taken to trust Ondolemar with his life and until Elenwen "found out". The next part hadn't been particulary pleasant. To harden the impression Ulfric had aquired of Ondolemar Elenwen had him tortured in Ulfrics place for a whole day, making the Nord watch as the Thalmor did to his so called friend what they had done to him. After that Ondolemar vanished from the picture. It didn't take much longer for Elenwen to break Ulfric completely and made him spill every bit of useless information he had. An "overheard" discussion between Elenwen and one of her superiors and "sloppy" guard later Ulfric had escaped believing to be at fault for the fall of the Imperial City.  
Elenwen hadn't counted on Ulfric still wanting to fight but he returned to the fight just in time for the battle of the Red Ring, where it took everything the Thalmor had at quiet maneuvering to make sure he survived. In 4E176 the plan to set a civil war in Skyrim in motion was started. Ondolemar made contact with Ulfric, claiming to have sought him out on his own initiative to right some of the wrongs he had done and told him of a made-up conspiracy between the Forsworn and the Thalmor Agents. Claiming that every last Forsworn was secretly a Thalmor agent and that they planned to start a witch hunt against the last few Talos worshippers was enough to set Ulfric in motion.  
Things went as planned, the liberated city was given to the Empire and the Thalmor moved officially in, threatening with another war should the newly allowed Talos worship not be forbidden again. Ulfrics hopes were shattered and he broke contact with Ondolemar.

"From that moment on he was considered a dormant asset. It was judged that I had maybe one or two moves left on Ulfric, after he partly blamed me for the Thalmor's influence over Markarth. I should remain in Markarth and save the little trust I had left for something Elenwen deemed a worthy purpose."  
"Ulfric had no idea he worked for the Thalmor instead against them?"  
"Nord are stupid." Ondolemar said easy. "They are too fixed on going with their heads through walls to stop to properly think. He didn't even suspect me to have any motivation besides giving him information. I made a show of discouraging him from taking Markarth, 'worry for an old friend' bla, bla. Now, is that enough information? Will you let me go?"  
Shanshu winked at him as she got up.  
"Don't worry. I gave you my word. By dawn in two days you will be well on your way to High Rock."

 

Shanshu let the matter rest after that. The war took a speedier route and sooner rather than later she found herself at Ulfrics side before the gates of Solitude.  
Their past quarrel - all of them of which there had been quite a few - were forgotten. Above them circled Odahviing, raining fire on the Imperial troops. Galmar laughed like mad the entire time. Ulfric was more reserved but his eyes still gleamed at watching the red dragon causing mayhem.  
"They will sing songs of this until the end of time." he said loudly to be heard over the ruckus.  
"What? About how me and my dragon made you king?" Shanshu said with mischief in her eyes.  
"Don't get cocky now. Win us this battle and maybe I consider including you in a song or two."  
"We'll have to let the Bard's College stand for that, though. I'll need to tell Odahviing ..." The dragon chose that moment to all but blow up a large district of Solitude before taking cover from the hail of arrows and retreating back over the mountains.  
"I hope that wasn't the College." Shanshu mumbled as Ulfric shouted the signal to advance on Castle Dour. She followed him and Galmar, hacking left and right, having the time of her life. Ulfric's Thu'um was less defined than hers but it was still powerful and it was a joy to be able to shout in unison, almost like a little choir.  
It was the confrontation with Rikke that made Shanshu painfully aware of how bad the civil war had been for Skyrim. Galmar's stories had brought her closer to them, she could almost feel the close bond that had once connected the three. Rikke faced her fate like a true Nord.  
It was a good death Galmar later said, full of integrity. Shanshu pretended not to see the tears in his eyes.  
With the war won there was not much more to be done. Shanshu helped snuff out the last Imperial camps in the wild and spent some time reconnecting the Thieves Guild (who had most of its former supporters drawn from Imperial ranks) before finally allowing herself to take some time out. Which in Dragonborn terms meant to help her kinfolk in the Gray Quarter and the Argonians at the Assembly get better through the Stormcloak routine.  
It didn't exactly lessened the tension between her and Ulfric.  
"You can't just take their stuff away! That's stealing."  
"It is not stealing. This silverware belonged rightfully to a Nord family."  
"And they sold it rightfully to Revyn Sadri. They don't even want it back, for Talos's sake."  
"Which doesn't change the fact that it is Nord possession which will remain in Nord hands."  
Shanshu in this moment would have liked to give Ulfric a good impression of her Voice. She resisted it only so. Instead she tore down her helmet and began unlacing the Stormcloak armour she still wore. Ulfric stared at her as if she had gone mad, while she got rid of her boots, then the sash and the chainmail shirt. By the time she got to her trousers Jorleif was as red as the Imperial banner and Galmar had started coughing to mask his laughter. He seemed to know where Shanshu was going with this. Only in her smallclothes she thrust the armour into Ulfrics arms.  
"Then this is also Nord possession. Take it."  
"Wha- you can't just give your armour back! It's yours. I gave it to you!"  
Even almost naked as she was Shanshu still managed somehow to look menacing.  
"Which doesn't change the fact that it is Nord possession. Let it go back to Nord hands."  
She echoed his earlier words and stormed out of the Palace, leaving Ulfric behind with his arms full of Stormcloak armour.

Shanshu hadn't returned to Hjerim - on account of being too angry and anything Nord right now even soft feather beds - and instead had rented a room at the Cornerclub where she right now drowned her anger - and continued nakedness - in Sujamma.  
"I should never have left Morrowind." she said to Ambarys who had no mind to disagree with a reasonably attractive woman who could shout him into grey mush if he so much as took a peek. He was carefully busy cleaning the counter. It was shining.  
"I should have just stayed. And I mean, Almalexia was crazy, no doubt about that but Sotha Sil ... I coulda saved him, you know? Vivec was a bit on the loony side as well, but he was a good guy. Together we could have brought Morrowind back on its feet. Done some good. Or by the nine, I could have gone to Hamerfell. Or to the Imperial City. Settled down somewhere nice and sunny. But no, I had to go to Skyrim and join up with that buffoon Ulfric."  
Shanshu sat with her back to the door but Malthyr - eyes carefully on the floor he was sweeping - noticed the pair of expensive boots that had entered the tavern.  
"And there I go, win him a kingdom to rule over and did I mention I slayed Alduin. That would have really bitten him in the arse sooner or later. Hah. I wish I had waited and Alduin had really bitten him in the arse. Literally. Maybe I should just call Odahvii... He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"  
Malthyr gave a curt nod before he fled into the back where Ambarys was hiding already. Two wielders of the voice in one tavern didn't seem all too healthy.  
Shanshu turned around and gave Ulfric a long once-over.  
"Well, crap. And we're indoors. What do you want?"  
Ulfric smiled before sitting down across from Shanshu. That alone was surprising enough. The next thing almost knocked her drunk self from the chair.  
"I came to apologise."  
"Yeah. Good one."  
"I mean it. You were right about ... what we discussed. As much as I don't like it, the Dunmer owned the silverware rightfully. I had my guards return it to him."  
Shanshu leaned back, her arms carefully crossed over her naked chest.  
"Huh. Now you have me speechless."  
"I tend to have that effect on women."  
"Very funny." Shanshu said but grinned. Then she leaned forward.  
"Why did you kill Torygg?"  
Ulfric raised his brow.  
"That was a sudden change of subjects."  
"It's the only thing I can't wrap my head around. For everything you did, even your hatred of the Dunmer, I can imagine some reason, however stupid." Shanshu said and ignored the 'Hey!' Ulfric was giving her. "But why kill Torygg? He would have listened to you, he admired you. What was the reason?"  
"I already told you, it ..."  
"The real reason. The one you're not telling anyone."  
Shanshu realised what a strange conversation this was. She, half-naked, asking Ulfric, High-King of Skyrim for his reasons to kill the old one while sitting in a Dunmer tavern. It was funny in a way.  
"You know what I think?" she continued when Ulfric didn't answer. "I think you just wanted to be king. The voice gave you a taste of power and you wanted more of it. You didn't like the idea of having to convince anyone, even one as moldable as Torygg, of your ideas."  
"That's not a very good reason for killing someone."  
"But is it true? Am I right?" And she couldn't help adding "Again."  
Ulfric hummed something that could be as well a yes as a no.  
"It was one reason. I felt Torygg to be weak. He was no king, not like his father. I feared that sooner or later he - and Skyrim with him - would break under the pressure of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire. And that then it would be too late to do anything. And yes, I think I am the best option to replace him. I thought it then and I do it now. I am a good king." He said it without bragging, just stating a fact. "Is that a good enough reason for you?"  
Shanshu leaned her head to the side.  
"You do want what's best for Skyrim and you are strong-willed." she said. "Even if you leave parts of Skyrim out, I too think that - with the Aldmeri Dominion advancing - you are the best option. For the time being."  
"What do you mean, I leave parts out?"  
Shanshu raised her brow at him.  
"Isn't it obvious? The Dunmer, the Argonians, the Khajiit. They are all part of the land. They are part of your damned city. Akatosh chose a Dunmer to protect Skyrim. Doesn't that prove that we are part of it? Or can you still see only the aliens in us? The people who are so foreign to you that you can't accept that we are people, just like you, struggling in a world that seems to have it out for us."  
"I can see past your skin." Ulfric said, but Shanshu shook her head.  
"That is not enough and you know it. I made a better future for Skyrim. You are that future. I did it at the cost of the wellbeing of my people and all who are not Nords but nonetheless chose this land as their home. They suffer under your hand. And now I have to make it better for them. You can help me, and I would greatly appreciate that. Or I can do it on my own. Lead my people back to where they come from. Try to make a living where we are not shunned for the colour of our skin and eyes."  
"You would leave?"  
"I wouldn't like to."  
Ulfric looked at her long. Then he reached down and pulled out of a bag Shanshu hadn't seen him bring along, the uniform she had so demonstratively discarded.  
"Don't then. Don't leave. I ... understand your wish to help your people. Maybe in time ..."  
Shanshu nodded slowly. She reached out for the armour and pulled it over.  
"In time." She agreed.

There were years between then and now. Years of effort and of war. Years of being drawn apart by the animosity between elves and men.  
But it ended with Ulfric and Shanshu, close together, reading the tale of the Nerevarine that had spent an entire lifetime in a chest under the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much anything in there is my head-canon. I took some facts and ran with them naked around screaming 'weee'. I'd like to think I made some pretty educated guesses about Ulfrics age and that I didn't stray too far from what could be canon. I mostly viewed this for me as an extension of the Ulfric in game (that's why I didn't expand on the shippiness too much.)


End file.
